Gorillaz Guide to the Galaxy
by MurdocsMinionGirl
Summary: Murdoc Niccals, of Gorillaz, who has been hitchhiking his way through the galaxy since the fall of Plastic Beach, decideds to get the band back together for their first interplanetary album-whether they like it or not.  Bad summary is bad
1. Chapter 1

_So, I've had this idea for awhile… I have a major, bordering on unhealthy obsession with the Gorillaz, and I'm a fan of Douglas Adam's "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" series, so I thought "Why not combine the two?" I've really not much to say on the matter, apart from the fact that I sadly do not own either, though I would like to. The writing should speak for itself, I think (and if it doesn't, I'll have to see that the voices in my head stop saying it will). Your advice is valued, so if you would like to tell me how I can improve the writing style, or anything else for that matter, please tell me. I apologize for the insanely short chapter. All future chapters will be much longer._

Years of space travel could do odd things to a man from Earth, whose sole purpose in life had been to be a bad influence on all those he met, but this particular odd thing had thrown this particular man from Earth for a particularly dizzying loop.

He kept finding himself thinking of his home planet—which was normal enough in itself for any species of galactic traveler. What wasn't normal for this galactic traveler was the fact that he was thinking about his band. An uncounted number of years past (why not call it one, for the sake of simplicity?), exploring the wonders of the unknown universe, and already he missed that load of losers.

It had taken the aging Satanic rocker ages to figure out what the specific emotion involved here was, and he had been shocked to discover that _he_ missed anything at all from the planet of his origin, least of all the Noodle, Russel, and What's-'is-name. How could he? He had everything he needed right here; money from intergalactic sperm banks, plenty of booze, a copy of the best-selling book in the universe, and, most importantly, a grubby, pink towel.

The only thing he had left of the old days were the two metallic personalities he had salvaged from the wreckages of Kong Studios and Plastic Beach respectively, and they weren't much in the way of company. As much as he hated to admit it, he was lonely…

Thus, Murdoc Niccals found himself hitchhiking back to the coordinates he had long ago abandoned, ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha, with no clue whether or not he would be returning to the glorious offerings of the wide universe, or more importantly, if he would ever get to drink another Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.


	2. Chapter 2

_Here you are, my lovely lot of readers, chapter two of my wonderfully brain-bending work of fiction. I know that it has been less than an hour since I published chapter one, but I already had it written, and that one was pitifully short… Plus, it was lacking in comedy, which is extremely hard to exclude from the Hitchhiker's universe. Speaking of which, I do not own the _Guide_, nor do I own the Gorillaz. And, between you and me, I don't own the universe either—but don't tell anybody._

2D couldn't believe what he was seeing. There stood before him the leader of his old band, hardly aged past 44, and keeping the company of Cyborg Noodle, and an unfamiliar robot that didn't appear to be happy to be there, least of all with Murdoc.

"Er… Hi." The blue-haired-man said slowly. He had been awoken from a rather pleasant dream, and his mind was still incapable of working out what the green-skinned-man could possibly be doing here.

"S'that all you can say, dullard? I've been gone a year, and all you can come up with is 'Hi'?"

2D blinked a few times in confusion. Something was very off about that statement… Finally, after a few moments, he got it, "Muds," it felt odd saying the older man's name after all these years, "I's been more than a year…" his voice was slow and deliberate.

The aging rocker raised an unseen eyebrow, "Has it? I'm afraid I've been a bit out of touch with the goings-on of the world. How long has it been, then? Two years? Three?"

The former singer continued to be utterly, and entirely confused, "About five, I fink… Er… Did you wanna come in?" he asked a touch pathetically, half hoping the Satanist would say "Nope," and go whistling down the sidewalk never to be seen again.

Murdoc, who had been fiddling with the corner of a rather dirty, pink towel he happened to be carrying with him looked back at the younger man with a hint of surprise, "Five? Are you sure?"

The robot 2D didn't recognize shot a look of pure disdain in the bassist's direction, "Don't forget relative time, genius—you travel through space, time slows down for you. It keeps passing at the same rate on Earth."

"Ah, right—didn't think of that." The older-but-younger-than-he-should-be man replied, his confusion clearing visibly as he pushed roughly past 2D into the cluttered apartment he had been invited into a few moments before, "Nice place—got anything to drink?"

Unfortunately for the singer-come-lawyer, his own confusion did not clear up in the slightest, "Did he jus' mention space travel?"

"Eh? _Oh, _oh _that_! Yeah, forgot to mention that bit," He paused, clearing his throat and standing up straight, before shrugging and returning to his normal slouched position, "I've been travelling the universe for kicks for however-long-it's-been, thought I'd drop by and see how things're going here on the little blue planet. Wotever happened to er… The other two?" he said, rummaging in the other man's kitchen without asking, presumably for something alcoholic.

"Noodle got a place in London, and Russel found a way to shrink back down and moved in wiv 'is uncle… Why?" he asked suspiciously.

The Satanist waved it off, "Just curious, is all." He said nonchalantly, before his tone made a sudden change to a more urgent one, "Though I am in a bit of a hurry… See, I've only got a couple of hours before the ship takes off without me."

"Er… Ship?"

"Space-ship." The older man answered shortly.

"Right," 2D said slowly, "Well… I wouldn't want to keep you." His voice had become almost hopeful as he began to walk to the door to open it for the older man.

He showed no sign of following.

The former singer hesitated, "Er…" after a few seconds silence he realized he should say something, "Er… Muds, if you 'ave to leave soon, why'd you stop by?"

It suddenly appeared as if the older man had been waiting for this question. He paused in his rummaging, turning to look at the nervous 30-something, a slow smile spreading across his lips, exposing teeth better left unexposed, "I woz thinking, mate… How'd you like to get the band back together?"

2D, who was still trying to get a grip on the fact that the older man was visiting from space, looked slightly more nervous at the suggestion. His mind flickered briefly back to the previous, supposedly last, album, and he let a long suffering sigh escape his lips, "Do I 'ave a choice?"

Murdoc looked thoughtful, "Now you mention it… Not really, no."

The blue-haired man rubbed slowly at his temples, where a splitting headache was beginning to develop, "And you haven't picked up the others yet?"

"Nope." Said the older man, picking at his teeth with an untrimmed talon.

Another sigh from the singer-turned-lawyer-turned-singer as he struggled with the child-proofed lid of his headache medication, before emptying a few pills into his hand and washing them down with some instant tea from the refrigerator, "How long do I 'ave to get ready?" he asked, hoping that the man had just gone mental, and he'd be back home by Monday at the very latest.

Murdoc glanced at his watch, which was pointless, as it didn't work, nor did it tell local time when it did work, "Er… I'd say about… Five minutes." After a long pause he added, "And don't forget a towel."

"Why?"

"It's important." The Satanist snapped, finally finding a few cans of White Light, "Drink these." He said, setting two in front of the younger man and opening one for himself.

2D stared at him, "Murdoc, I's 3:30 in the morning, I woz sleeping an' you jus' come waltzing in 'ere fin-" he stopped abruptly as the other man began collecting odd things from around the singer's apartment and packing them into a beach towel from the restroom, "Wot're you doing?"

"Gathering supplies… By the way, you have three minutes left."

"Muds, did you forget some meds or sumfink?"

"No, I ran out a few months ago—there's a difference."

A third sigh escaped from the singer's lungs as he made a show of sulking down the hall and into his bedroom to pack some clothing into a cheap duffel, mumbling the whole way that the older man was most definitely off-his-rocker, and surely he'd be getting a call from the institution any minute now, and how had that bastard gotten his address anyway?

Abruptly, his train of thought was broken as the bane of his existence firmly grabbed the material of his robe and yanked him onto the floor with it to get his attention, "Times up—we need to go pick up the others if we're going to start off our intergalactic career properly."

2D grumbled to himself, mostly about Murdoc being a tosser, before he managed an acid soaked reply, "Muds, can't we jus' leave them out of this? We recorded the last album wivout them."

"Artificial sounds and drum machines are a dime-a-dozen—we need something that'll _really_ blow their minds. Live is the way to go."

"And you'll take the credit fer all of it…" the singer muttered before adding, "You know, I'd really rather not do this."

"Well… We can always do this the hard way. We've already established that you don't have any choice in the matter." He shrugged.

Another sigh, "Fine," he said, getting to his feet and brushing dust off his robe, "Le's get this over wif, so I can go back to bed."

Murdoc rose an eyebrow, "I'm not entirely sure yer getting this, Dents… We aren't coming back."

"Wot? Murdoc, I 'ave a life outside Gorillaz, you know—You can't jus' expect me to jus'… Jus' drop it all to feed you sodding ego!"

"Yes I can. Watch." With that 2D found that he had very little choice in the matter, as the older man's bony fingertips dug into the singer's shoulder, forcing him down the hall.

He didn't even have a chance to utter a sigh of relief when they reached the living room, since, as soon as the older man had let go, Cyborg had begun to dig an object which was very like a gun into the 30-something's back. Well… At least this was familiar territory.

He stifled another sigh and clenched his jaw shut as he walked, holding tightly to his back, in the direction of the door. He'd probably be back home by the start of the week… Murdoc couldn't actually be serious about this space stuff… Could he?


End file.
